


Baking is like Washing (the results are equally temporary)

by someidiothasice



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is the worst alpha, Other, Stiles is an ass, but that doesn't mean you can destroy his goodies, it just makes him a woman, just because he stress bakes doesn't make him gay, maybe a few hints of Stiles/Danny, you've seen the opening credits right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-10
Updated: 2012-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:02:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someidiothasice/pseuds/someidiothasice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing was, even on a normal day Stiles would've been surprised at seeing Derek's car parked on the street in front of Scott's house. Usually Derek just crept around like some kind of pervy, wolf-y stalker and snuck in and out of high school boys bedroom windows. He rarely left such obvious evidence to his presence like his car parked out front for all and sundry to see.</p><p> </p><p>Based solely on <a href="http://aliassmith.tumblr.com/post/27260653015/derryere-cherrybina-kronos999-personal">this</a>. Bless the internet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking is like Washing (the results are equally temporary)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliassmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliassmith/gifts).



> Fair warning: The thoughts expressed in this story/tags are an example of a teenaged boy's thought process, and are in no way any kind of a social commentary or my own actual opinion.
> 
> I know baking doesn't make a man gay _or_ a woman, okay? Take it with a grain of salt.

The thing was, even on a normal day Stiles would've been surprised at seeing Derek's car parked on the street in front of Scott's house. Usually Derek just crept around like some kind of pervy, wolf-y stalker and snuck in and out of high school boys bedroom windows. He rarely left such obvious evidence to his presence like his car parked out front for all and sundry to see.

But obviously this wasn't going to be a normal day at all. He realized that when Isaac attached himself to Stiles' hip at lunch and then decided that, in lieu of Scott, _Stiles_ was his new bestie and he had to spend the rest of the day with Isaac four feet away at all times. It got weirder when at lacrosse practice Finstock let him play, then when Boyd had knocked Stiles down Jackson -- _Jackson!_ \-- had tugged him to his feet and gave him a rough pat on the back before jogging off, and Stiles really didn't want to know what _that_ was about. And there was definitely some weirdness in the locker room when Danny clapped him on the face, his hand wet with his aftershave, and it was like there was something in the water. Everyone had been acting strange.

Well, okay, maybe the weirdness he felt with Danny had something to do with the way Danny had looked at him when he did it, but whatever. That was an entirely different bottle of weird. And that bottle smelled like _Armani_.

Top it all off with seeing Erica and Boyd slink away through the McCall's backyard and Stiles was ready to give up. This was all Scott's fault. Ever since Peter Hale bit him Stiles' life had been one crazy rollercoaster ride after another. Scott wasn't even _around_ right now and somehow the crazy followed Stiles anyway.

"Yo, Derek!" he called out when he opened the door. He walked through the living room, then just stood in the doorway to the kitchen and stared.

Derek stood frozen with his back to him. For a moment Stiles wondered if he just didn't hear him, because it looked like Derek was in some kind of a trance, but he shook it off. Of course he knew Stiles was there. He must've heard the front door slam, if not the sound of the jeep pulling in. He definitely had to have heard Stiles yell his name when he made it through the door.

But whatever, obviously the point to focus on was not Stiles' day anymore. It was the fact that Derek was standing in the middle of Scott's kitchen. Shirtless. And covered in flour.

Stiles blinked.

"Um," he said and then stopped, because where did you go after 'um'?

Derek turned around and gave Stiles the most pathetic pair of puppy dog eyes he'd ever seen on him, which meant his glare was a little less _Blue Steel_ and a little more _Dirty Harry_ , maybe with a bit of Julia Childs thrown in there with all the bowls, cups, and spoons on the counter.

 _What has my life become?_ Stiles thought mournfully.

"Scott and his mom are out of town," was all Derek said. He turned his back on Stiles again and poked at the cookie sheet on the counter.

"Yeah, I know," Stiles said slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around _what the hell Derek Hale was doing standing around shirtless and pasty-white in the McCall's kitchen_. "Mind telling me what's going on in here?"

"They collapsed," Derek replied shortly, nodding at the flat lumps of charcoal in front of him. He sighed and picked up the pan, dumping the ruined cookies into the sink. He flipped the switch above the sink and blinked when a light came on under the cabinets. "No garbage disposal? That's weird."

"This coming from a guy standing around covered in flour in somebody else's home. I feel like I just stepped into an alternate reality."

"What're you doing here?"

"No, I think that's my line, buddy." Stiles took a few steps forward and stared into the sink. Next to him Derek twitched. Stiles looked up at him, then down at the counter where a bunch of bowls and spoons lay around haphazardly. "Wanna tell me what's going on, or are you just gonna stand there and glare at the inanimate objects?"

"Boyd and Erica think I'm a bad alpha."

Stiles looked back up at him so fast he might've got whiplash.

"What? That's ridiculous."

Derek grunted in appreciation.

"I mean, sure, you have no idea what you're doing, and you might've gone a little crazy with the power, and yeah, okay, you went and turned a bunch of outcasts, who were already emo enough to begin with mind you, into a really odd band of leather wearing ragtag hoodlums, and Scott kind of hates you, but to be fair that's because I did everything I could to poison the well--"

Derek growled a little and Stiles took a hasty step back.

"--but that's not to say you're a bad alpha! I mean, you're already a step up from your uncle because even though you've threatened my life numerous times, and we can go into detail about that _later_ , you haven't actually followed through--"

"Yet," Derek interrupted.

"--and I'm pretty sure if you hadn't been there that night he most definitely would've ripped my throat out, and did I ever thank you for that? But point: you don't completely suck." Stiles finished by clapping Derek on the shoulder.

A cloud of flour puffed up and Stiles cleared his throat.

"So..." he gestured to the bowls on the counter. "Your pups think you're a mean old sourwolf and your answer to that is... baking?"

"It's something I... nevermind." Derek turned back to the pan and tossed it onto the burners in dismay. "It's stupid."

"Probably," Stiles agreed, "but it might help to, you know, talk about it."

"When I was little," Derek began, and Stiles perked up. It wasn't everyday Derek took him on a walk down Memory Lane. Any information he could get about werewolves he would take, even if it was about werekiddies. "I could always tell when my parents would fight."

"Hey, yeah, I hear you. When my mom and dad used to fight I could always tell because my dad would go off into the woods and shoot soda cans with his backup piece." Derek paused and looked over at him. Stiles grinned back. "Scott and I followed him once. We were wondering what happened to all of those Dr. Pepper cans he used to hoarde. Sorry, continue."

"They wouldn't get loud, but Laura and I... we always knew. She would let me crawl into bed with her and she would read to me until I fell asleep. One night I just couldn't, so I went downstairs. My dad used to leave the house, but my mom..." Derek gestured to the debris. "She was stress baking. That's what she called it. That night she let me climb up on a chair and watch. Somehow it became a thing. Whenever they would fight I would climb into bed with Laura and listen for the front door to shut. Then I would get up, go downstairs, and watch. It didn't matter what it was; cookies, bread, cakes... Over time, I got to help out. Mix the batter, knead the dough. She even had these cookie cutters in these funny shapes, and..."

Stiles listened, rapt, as Derek told his story. He could just picture it: a woman, maybe a little older than Laura when they found her, standing at the Hale kitchen counter while a young Derek stood next to her on a chair and watched with wide eyes. He didn't want to, because he had been against Derek (or at least the idea of Derek) from the very beginning, and thinking things like this... _humanizing_ Derek in his mind didn't help one bit.

Derek let out a grunt. "It helps bring me down."

"No, I get that." Stiles wiped his hand on his jeans and left a white smear behind. "Good idea. Don't succumb to the rage and depression. Great idea. But maybe next time, I don't know. Use a timer?"

Derek turned his head to give Stiles the side-eye. He sniffed and ran a hand through his hair. Stiles successfully held back a chuckle when another cloud of flour wafted up.

"Couldn't find one," he grumbled. "It's like these people don't believe in clocks."

"Okay, look. I'm supposed to spend a few hours here, make the place look like somebody's living here for the weekend. I have an idea. How about you go upstairs and shower and change, because honestly those jeans have seen better days, and, no offense, but I just can't take you seriously when you're covered in flour and _stress baking_ in my best friends kitchen. Scott's gotta have something you can fit into. So you go do that, and I'll just..." Stiles looked at the counter. There was a dollop of something creamy inches from his hand that he stuck his finger into. He sucked the mixture into his mouth and promptly gagged.

"Christ, that is awful. I'm going to dump this into the trash can, because that's where whatever the hell this is belongs. Then I'm going home to grab my mom's recipe box, because obviously you need help and my mother made the best oatmeal raisin cookies on the coast." Stiles waved in the direction of the stairs, then again impatiently when Derek didn't move. "C'mon, get a move on. I'd push you but I don't want to get any more contaminated by your pastryfail. What the hell happened, did you lose a fight with Agent Coulson?"

"I had butter on my hand and the measuring cup slipped. Shut up." Derek started to walk away, then he turned around and stared at Stiles. "I could take Coulson."

"Wow, you're a real boy under all that powder after all. And no, you couldn't. _No one_ could take Coulson. Hashtag coulsonlives." Stiles turned to the mess, then decided to just do it all when he got back. "Go wash up, Martha Stewart. I'll be back in ten."

"Why?"

"Because that crap you were trying to bake tasted like chalk. Trust me, my mother's cookies were legendary. You can thank me later."

"No, I mean." Derek squinted down at him, and for a moment it was almost endearing. Covered in flour and confused, Derek looked like a puppy who hadn't yet realized he'd done a bad thing. _This fellow_ , Stiles thought fondly. Then he realized he was thinking fondly of Derek Hale and he shook himself back into the conversation. "Why are you helping me?"

"I like cookies?" Stiles guessed. He wasn't about to bring up the confused puppy thing. He had a feeling Derek wouldn't appreciate it.

Derek narrowed his eyes and Stiles sighed dramatically.

"Look, just because I don't like you doesn't mean I don't _like_ you, okay? I like you enough to keep your ass afloat for three hours in a pool. What's a little manly baking between friends? Acquaintances. Friends? I don't know what to categorize you as."

"Manly." Derek looked him up and down deliberately. Stiles sniffed in indignation.

"Yes, manly. In my case, at least. I'm helping you out. You're the drama queen having a tantrum in someone else's house over your ruined meringues."

"Don't call me that, I'm not gay," Derek said as he cast the traitorous pan a glare. "Erica slammed the oven door earlier, when she was calling me a bad alpha. _She_ ruined them, not me. And they were macaroons."

"Potato, potahto. And trust me, I know you're not gay. Danny says my gaydar's getting better. Besides," he added, feeling daring when Derek raised an eyebrow at him, "you have to not be asexual to be gay. Hey, easy on the glare there, Eastwood. I'm only kidding. Mostly. I know baking doesn't make you gay. It just makes you a _woman_."

Derek growled something unintelligible under his breath and spun on his heel, stalking up the stairs.

Stiles chased after him, stopping at the foot of the stairs and calling up after Derek's back.

"Ten minutes! And when I get back you better have a shirt and apron on, you caveman."

A boot smacked into him when he opened the front door, and when he turned to look down at it there was a perfectly shaped white bootprint on his ass.

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't seen Colton's junk swinging in my face and had to flail about it. The responsible parties know who they are.
> 
> Title comes from what happens when you look up quotes about baking. Thank you, Patricia Briggs.


End file.
